


Personal Space For Rent

by StrawberryLane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bus, M/M, Meet-Cute, Morning Commute, Public Transportation, kind of, personal space invaded, they might be wizards they might not who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: If it had been anyone else, Percival would've been fine. But this boy, with his ugly bowl cut and shy, withdrawn demeanor, clutching a few battered books to his chest, isn't anyone. This boy – who Percival creatively has come to call the bus boy in his head – is special. Special in the way that he's very gorgeous and Percival would like to know him better and you know, actually find the courage to talk to him sometime. They've been sharing the same bus a couple of times now, and Percival always finds himself staring, even if he doesn't mean to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's been a really gorgeous guy on my bus to work a couple of times this past week. I find it kinda hard not to stare at him like some creep. 
> 
> I know it's been a while since I posted something in the fbawtft fandom, but I don't feel very inspired right now. You know, in case you wanted to know.

Percival Graves is a busy man. He doesn't have time to stand around to wait on a bus that will inevitably be packed full of people – like a can of sardines – by the time it finally reaches his stop.

Sometimes he wonders why the rest of the people in the world necessarily have to work too. Couldn't they at the very least have the decency not to take the eight o'clock bus?

When the bus finally shows up on the horizon and rolls to a stop – the old vehicle sighing like it's about to give up entirely – it's completely full, like Percival knew it would be but had hoped to God it wouldn't. He and the rest of the people waiting with him, around ten or so, fight their way onto the bus, pushing and pulling until every single one of them are standing inside it. Percival is standing right next to the doors, right hand gripping at the overhead handhold, the left holding his briefcase in a tight grip. His face, unfortunately, is inches away from a woman's considerable cleavage, and if he wants to, he could rest his chin comfortably against the head of the girl in front of him. It's not an ideal situation by any means.

The bus is just about to close its doors and pull away from the curb when one last person squeezes through the doors to get onto it. The boy or rather, young man, is panting, evidently having run to catch the bus and to avoid being stuck between the doors, he's absolutely plastered against Percival's own body.

If it had been anyone else, Percival would've been fine. But this boy, with his ugly bowl cut and shy, withdrawn demeanor, clutching a few battered books to his chest, isn't anyone. This boy – who Percival creatively has come to call the bus boy in his head – is special. Special in the way that he's very gorgeous and Percival would like to know him better and you know, actually find the courage to talk to him sometime. They've been sharing the same bus a couple of times now, and Percival always finds himself staring at the boy, even if he doesn't mean to do it.

The bus finally pulls away from the curb with a jerk, making all the standing passengers sway on their feet, including Percival and the boy. Seemingly realizing that he's invading Percival's space, the young man flushes bright red and tries to find space to remove himself – except there's not space to move to, if he doesn't want end up either fall through the doors when they open at the next stop or crowd the girl next to them both against the wall. The air seems to leave the boy as he slumps, defeated, still leaning against Percival.

"I'm sorry," Percival barely catches the whispered words over the noise of the bus and its passengers, but once he realizes they came from the boy he plasters on his most reassuring smile and tries not to lose his balance as the bus roars down the street. The eight o'clock bus is always, always late and the driver seems to make up for it by driving way too fast down a street that is quite honestly littered with speed bumps. It's a very fine example of the human stupidity, really.

"It's all right," Percival manages as he tries to move his briefcase as a barrier between his own body and the boy's. The last thing either of them needs this morning, Percival imagines, is for Percival's brain to run amok and cause something embarrassing to happen in his lower regions. "I really don't mind," he blurts out, cursing his brain for choosing those particular words. Now the boy is going to think he's a regular old pervert.

The boy's cheeks gets bright red again, like he's embarrassed. The silence settle between them, the boy seemingly content with trying not to lose his place or drop his books to the floor and Percival racking his brain but failing to come up with an appropriate subject. He feels like he should say something to make up for his previous comment, but what to you really talk about with a complete stranger you've seen a couple of times on the bus? "Where do you get off?" could be a conversation starter, but with Percival's current track record and the boy's previous embarrassment at Percival's last comment, it might be misunderstood and the conversation following that is something Percival can do without. Especially in a bus as crowded as this one, where no conversation is private.

The bus comes to a screeching halt at a red light, causing half of the unprepared crowd to go flying, including the boy. He looses his balance and is about to land on top of the girl standing next to him and without thinking, Percival reaches out and wraps his arm, suitcase and all, around the boy's waist, reeling him in, pressing him close against Percival's own chest. There's not one centimeter of space between their bodies now, Percival reflects.

"Oh God," he hears the boy say, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Percival assures him, once again. He quickly lets go of the boy as the bus begins to move again, not wanting to seem like a creep. If he keeps himself ready to catch the boy again because he knows there's another traffic light coming up ahead, we won't mention it here.

Once the bus reaches its next stop, a few people file out, with a few sorry's and excuse mes being thrown around for good measure. After that first stop, there's not a lot of new people getting on, but all the more getting off. Soon enough, there's a few empty seats here and there, and Percival, mourning the loss of the other body pressed against his own, moves away to take a window seat. It'll look weird if he stays close to the boy when the bus gets emptier and emptier of passengers, especially since he's going to the end of the line, something he knows from previous journeys that the boy will do too.

Something blocks the sunlight from him as he makes himself comfortable in his chosen seat and he looks up, not really expecting the boy to be standing there.

"Would you mind if I sit down? There's no other seats left," the boy asks, the hand not cradling his books to his chest gripping the rail next to him. He sounds apologetic, as if he expects Percival to think he's being weird.

"Not at all," Percival says instead, because secretly, he's thrilled. He gets to spend even more time with some parts of the boy pressed against him. God, he's going to hell.

Soon enough, there are only a few people left and the bus comes to a halt at their stop. As they step of the bus, out into the glaring sunlight, the boy turns to Percival.

"I don't think I said thank you for catching me," he says, not looking at Percival's face, "so I wanted to say thank you for catching me, Mr..." he trails off, waiting for Percival to fill in the blank.

"Graves," Percival tells him, "Percival Graves." He puts out his hand to shake hands with the boy, who takes it and they quickly, somewhat awkwardly, squeeze hands. "And it was really no problem..." this time it's Percival who trails off, waiting for the boy to get the hint.

"Oh," the boy says, cheeks flushed once again and Percival feels dirty for even entertaining the thought that he really likes it when the boy's cheeks are that color, "My name is Credence."

”Nice to meet you, Credence.”

*

The next day, Percival, against all odds, actually snags himself a window seat on the eight o’clock bus. He puts his briefcase on the seat next to him, ignoring the dirty looks this gets him, only removing it when he sees Credence step onto the bus, looking around to see if there’s any empty seats left.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!


End file.
